


Aeipathy

by snapeplissken



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Head Injury, Healing, Isolation, M/M, Manipulation, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-04-24 14:47:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14357679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapeplissken/pseuds/snapeplissken
Summary: He wakes up alone with no idea of where he is or who he is. He has only his instincts to guide him as he's isolated away, like a prisoner. As he starts to piece things together, he is less sure of his safety, and ultimately less sure of himself.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> You should know that I'm not a great writer and I haven't been an active writer for a very long time. But I'm sad about how slow this fandom is, so I'm here to produce the content I wish to see. Resident Evil is my life, haha. I love critique, so feel free to let me know what you think. Full tags and warnings will likely be updated after the story is finished. This will be multi-chapter, but not an epic. I don't have a beta, and I really don't know what I'm doing, haha.

The first thing he noticed was how bright it was. Even with his eyes closed, he could sense the sunlight streaming all around him, flirting delicately with a subtle breeze. It was warm.

When he finally managed to open his eyes, a struggle harder than he'd like to admit even to himself, he felt overwhelmed with the assault on his retinas. The entire room was white. Not an off-white, not grunged with age, but a perfect, crisp, clouds at mid-day whiteness covered everything in the room. The walls, the shelving, window curtains, and counter, the hospital-harsh sheets draped over him. All of it was immaculately white.

He thought he might be dead, that this might be heaven. But the heaviness in his chest and the lingering soreness of fatigue was all too real, too ordinary. He was alive. He just didn't know where, or how.

Or who.

He thought about it briefly before sliding off the bed, dragging half the linens to the floor. He wasn't clothed, not even in a hospital gown, but he found some (white) drawstring sweats in the cupboard. He actually struggled with the sweats; his fingers seemed incapable of listening to him. His grasp was weak and his hands shook.

The small room lacked a mirror, but he didn't need one to know he was of a somewhat average height (six foot one) and had brown hair. He could almost remember; it was a niggling nothingness, like hearing a muffled echo outside a room. It was there, just indistinguishable.

He peered out into the empty hallway. He had heard nothing at all since awakening, aside from the soft rustling of curtains. He could swear he was in some sort of hospital, but there was no staff or vibrating hum of machinery. The place was like a clinical, sterile, deserted bed and breakfast.

There was a long window directly to his right, at the end of the short hall. The curtains matched the ones in his room. He took the quick three steps there to warily look out.

There was no screen and the window was open. The salt-sweet breeze lent the air weight. And though he could neither see nor hear the ocean, it was clear he was on the coast.  
He was on the second storey, looking into a tidy, kempt courtyard. There was a fountain below, though it was dry. The shrubs lining the path seemed only slightly overgrown. The sun had just crested, beginning its lazy descent towards the horizon, just to the left. He could see some trees.

The sight set him at unease. There were no people out there. Nothing. Not even birdsong could be heard.

He carefully shut the window, watched as the curtains drifted lifelessly down. He wasn't sure if he should explore this building he was in or just book it outside. He wished he could remember his name. He felt lonely without something to call himself.

Turning away from his room, he went to the door across from his. It was a near-perfect mirror image of the room he had been in. This bed was missing sheets though, the bare mattress declaring its lack of occupancy. He turned around, and somehow disoriented himself. How could he lose the doorway when it was right behind him? He shook his head and entered the empty hall again.

The room next door to his was the same. Stark. Empty. So was the room across that one, and the final room on his side was a small full bath, complete with a white porcelain tub. He didn't bother looking in the mirror or in the cabinets, but he felt a small relief at finding a functional bathroom. Opposite that was a simple but stocked utility closet. Undeterred and not quite satisfied, he went downstairs. He wondered briefly why there wasn't an elevator. Somehow it felt strange, that there should be one.

Downstairs wasn't too different. Six white doors in white walls, a window at the end of the opposite hall. He went down to the ground floor.

An open space greeted him. To the right was a well-furnished kitchen with an absurd amount of counter-space, a large pantry, and a huge old stove. To the left was a small sitting area, a few small white chairs, a low coffee table, and a small door leading to some side area. The front exit was a pair of narrow, white french doors. He could see the courtyard beyond.

His stomach grumbled as he stepped onto the threshold. Nervously, he froze. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he ate, and now that he thought about it he was probably ravenous.

Considering how nicely kept the entire building was, he was pretty certain there was some sort of food stocked in the kitchen... But he went outside instead.

The walled courtyard was bleached stone, the harsh ocean air and ample sunlight had done its job well. The paint on the building was a bit chipped, but not enough to look decrepit. Following the path, he turned the corner of the building and walked alongside the length of it. Short succulents trailed along the walkway, some proudly displaying purple or yellow beach blossoms.

The wind picked up, and distantly he heard a gull. He relaxed visibly; it was such a needed  
reassurance to know that there was something else out there alive.

Turning a second corner, the patio wall opened up and he could see the surrounding area better. Some evergreen, stunted trees made a small thicket to his right, but there was a paved road, and a small circular parking lot. Ahead he could just see the pale beach, the chunky green water and its seafoam heavy waves slowly lapping at the land. It looked like the tide was rising.  
"Beautiful." He croaked out, wanting to hear his own voice. It was too gruff, broken from disuse. He swallowed thickly, suddenly tentative of himself. Beautiful the sight was, it was too serene, desolate even. No sign of any other people. Confused, he looked back at the building. He felt a little dizzy as he turned around. What was he doing? His stomach growled.

He made his way back inside, to the kitchen. It had many simple cafeteria supplies and since he could, he decided regular oatmeal and bacon would make a good meal. There was even a giant, generic box of brown sugar. Awesome.

He hummed to himself a little to lighten the atmosphere while he cooked. He thinks it might have been an old Madonna song, some stupid pop played everywhere people were. Regardless, it felt almost normal sizzling the bacon in its own fat and thinking of retro pop music.

As he sat down to eat his mundane, though admittedly large and hearty meal, he briefly wondered if he was vegetarian. He looked at his arms and flexed. Nah, no way. He definitely ate meat.

And so he did.

He remembered he used to watch his mother cook, and when she was gone he made the same kinds of meals and dishes for his sister. Claire. His sister's name was Claire.

He missed her, enough that he dropped his fork and it clattered on the table unnoticed. He hadn't seen a phone anywhere, or a radio. He couldn't contact anyone, or tell anyone to let Claire know he was alright. He snorted, criticizing his own stupidity. Yeah, Claire who? He still didn't know who the hell he was or who to contact to get back to where he belonged.

The wind picked up as the daylight languidly crept away. He yawned, and stretched his aching body. He lifted and twisted his arms, popping his back, and decided he'd search along the road in the morning. He washed his dishes and put them all away, leaving the mess area as tidy as he had found it.

He searched every drawer and every cranny in the building, but found nothing incriminating. A few scuff marks, some dust. Inside the maintenance closet was a door that led to roof access.

On his floor's bathroom, in the mirror cabinet, he found a sealed toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. While brushing his teeth, he explored his room some more; for some reason he couldn’t remember exactly what it had looked like. When he checked the second drawer in the cabinet of his room he found a T-shirt and an oversized sweater. Well, a him-sized sweater. He was actually being modest if he called himself a big, muscular guy. The shirt would probably be a tight fit. Beneath the bed he found a pair of soft slippers. No shoes, but these were better than nothing.

He returned to the restroom and spat into the sink. After a brief hesitation, he decided to draw himself a bath. There were two full size towels on the rack and he didn't know what would happen come morning. To his relief, the tap poured piping hot water. The quaint bathroom quickly filled with steam and, after stripping off the sweats, he sighed graciously as he entered the tub of blissfully hot water.

He was clearly already in a clean state of hygiene, but he still tore open the plastic film on the single bar of soap on the rim of the tub and lathered himself up. There was no shampoo; an oversight on the people that left him here, or ran this place, or whatever.

The soap was harsh and dried his skin, he could feel it already. He deliberated while soaking in the water, letting the exhaustion from his fatigued body rest up. Who knew he was here? Did Claire know? Besides her name, and a few still images of her face, he couldn't remember much about her. A motorcycle, a melancholy in her eyes. He frowned. Her hair was brighter than his, a true red-kissed autumn fire. She was shorter, she was better at analytical work and... ... ... She liked to wear red? Her favourite colour?

He growled and sank as low as he could in the tub. His knees were sticking out of the water, but the humidity kept the air from becoming unpleasant. He couldn't wait to leave this place. He was restless, agitated. He knew something was wrong.

Unwittingly, he looked over his own skin. He had a surprising amount of scars, far more than what could be considered normal. Some were old, barely-there spectral wisps. Others were newer, aggressively raised knots. None of them hurt, but the agglomeration of bruising over his chest and torso did. He ran his hand over some of the darker sections; they looked like fists, handprints. That was crazy.

The water grew tepid, and his thoughts were becoming bizarre, depressing, so he drained the tub and dried off. The hall felt cool, refreshing after his near-sauna experience. His bed still smelt fresh, and he left the hallway lights on but closed the door to his room and didn’t turn on the light. Glancing out at the pregnable sunset, he realised it was still early. He hadn't been awake for very long, but he was tired, and sleep would come to him again easily. He shut his window and closed the curtains, muffling the caucus of vibrant pinks and heavenly golds gathering in the sky. He collected the linens about himself, straightening them out over his feet.

The silence was overwhelming, and he struggled to keep the tumultuous tide of emotions from overtaking him. He breathed heavily, slowly, and crushed his face into the pillow.

He could do this.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist gets a companion in this strange, stark place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I love critique. Let me know how I can improve, or what could use some clarifying or whatever. I want to get better at writing! I noticed some formatting issues with this update: I am very sorry. I tried to fix them, to no avail. I hope it isn't too illegible or confusing.

He woke early; the air was cool and he was thankful for the slippers for his feet. He was immediately cognizant; clearly a morning person through this jumbling mess. He briskly took the stairs, made himself large portions of bacon and salted fried eggs, and quickly polished off the meal. Again he cleaned up after himself, and found a jug of water. He left it on the counter.

He went upstairs, brushed his teeth, and threw on the t-shirt. It was tight; but didn’t restrict movement. He wouldn’t complain. He grabbed and put on the sweater too, and went back downstairs. He picked up the water and headed outside.

 It was cooler today, and he was grateful for the simple cotton sweater. Feeling a bit ridiculous wearing slippers outdoors, he stepped out into the parking lot. The road beyond was narrow, and only lead away from the ocean. He decided to follow it, alongside the trees. He frowned. Flora really wasn’t his area of expertise, he’d guess. He definitely couldn’t recognize the trees here, but he didn’t think they were pine, or alder, and they certainly weren’t oak trees. He frowned. He had no idea what kinds of trees grew along coasts. So he still had no idea where he was beyond near a beach .

He heard the engine before the car made it around the bend. He briefly wondered if he should hide, duck into the foliage of the coastal forest trees, but really he’d rather be found. He wanted to talk to someone, make sense of things. He stayed put, easily in sight along the asphalt, water jug still in hand.

 A black hummer revved around the corner and skid to stop a dozen feet past him. The driver reversed, slamming the brakes to a stop and rolled down a darkly tinted window.

 “Hi,” a woman said. “Sorry for running late. I didn’t actually expect you to be up and around yet.”

He kept his face neutral, and made a split second decision. “You know me?” He growled more than said. _Stupid_ , he thought to himself. _You should be more friendly_.

She laughed, a flippant, carefree trill of sound. “That’s right; I forgot. Do you remember anything?” She disengaged the lock on the doors. “Get in, come on.”

 Figuring that joining her back to… Whatever that place was was better than trekking the road alone, he obliged and hopped in the car. Black leather seats, pristine floor carpets, there was nothing to cue him in on his location or his new companion’s occupation. _No plates on the vehicle either_. He didn’t bother buckling in.

“Well, what do you remember?” She wore casual clothes, maybe something more fashionable than what most people would wear day to day. Her top would be called practical if it wasn’t so form fitting, and her jeans looked designer. Her hair was treated well with product and her lips were shiny with gloss.

“Not much.” He admitted. He didn’t want to talk about Claire to a stranger.

“Do you know your name?”

He shook his head. She parked and turned off the car. “Do you know my name?” He asked her.

She turned to him. Her smile seemed lascivious, almost to the point of maliciousness. “I do,” she coolly replied. She hopped out of the car, taking a small black bag from the back before shutting the door with a shapely hip.

“Well, what is it?” He followed her to the small sidewalk, not sparing a glance at the little succulents peeping from the ground in his anticipation for an answer.

“Oh, I’m not allowed to tell you,” she said. She shook her bangs from her face and opened the French doors. “Doctor’s orders. Could be bad to force your memories back.”

“That’s… Stupid.” He sighed, angry, already sick of this woman’s presence. “Why am I here? Who are you?”

“Calm down, big guy.” She turned around to flash another little smile at him. “You’re just here to rest, away from all the hubbub. It’s my job to check on you, make sure you’re healthy, and healing and whatever. Think of me as your own private nurse.” She winked boldly. All her charm was lost on him. He just wanted answers. He wanted to know why her vehicle had no plates, and how she expected him to know her.

“Speaking of, let me see your head.” She sauntered to him, invading his body space. She was a little tall, shorter than himself. He stood up straighter, looking down at her head full of brown hair. She placed a hand along his temple, and another on top of his head.

“ _Fuck_ .” His legs nearly gave out, and he almost lost his meal on the ground. He madly grasped for the counter, his head swimming and his eyes watering. The woman’s grasp lowered to the small of his back, orientating him. “ _Shit_. What the hell?”

“That is where you were hit. You suffered a major concussion.” The easy way she said it was like how one would state their favourite colour, or order a coffee. She ran her cool hands over his forehead, his temples. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t notice. Any headaches, nausea?”

“Yeah, I have that now,” he spat. His vision was slowly coming back into focus, so he carefully made his way to a chair.

“But nothing before?” She followed him and sank into a chair across him, crossing her long legs, her eyes bright and focused.

“No,” he confessed. He rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. “I just felt tired.” Briefly he remembered the disassociation from yesterday, but it was gone before he could fully grasp it.

“You need to avoid any physical activity,” she smartly told him. “And rest a lot. We’ll keep you stocked up on food and necessities, but your body and mind require copious rest until you heal.”

“How long is that going to take?” He sounded angry, petulant. He was.

“At least three to six weeks. Maybe more. I don’t know; I’m not actually a doctor. I was just assigned to take care of you.

“Who is my doctor?” He blearily blinked and raised his head to look at her.

“Sorry, tough guy. I’m not allowed to say.” Great.

“Is there a phone? Anyone I can call?”

“Nope,” she said. “In case you decided to try to force your memory back. No phones. Oh, and don’t try to run off again either. We’re pretty isolated out here. It took me a while to drive, and it’s dangerous for you to move around too much, with an injury like that. Even tripping and falling could potentially land you in a coma.” She seemed almost entertained she was so nonchalant.

“Awesome.” He sighed. What she said made sense though. Her hand had just ghosted the back of his head and he had felt like he could have had a seizure or pass out.

“Cheer up, big guy.” She swung her legs over, crossing them. “You could have died, but you didn’t. Just think of this as a little vacation. Private bed and breakfast, your own little beach, a beautiful girl to look after you. Pretty nice, right?”

He didn’t even bother answering her. He studied her shoes. Black, strongly silhouetted stilettos. Why was she wearing something so impractical out here? She was so… Weird.

“Can I have some shoes? And maybe some shampoo?” He finally asked.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. I’ll be leaving later today but I’m coming back tomorrow.” She pulled out her phone and added the memo. “Do you need anything else? Conditioner, maybe? Maybe some more _personal_ items?”

He completely ignored her last comment. Just because she felt that she could be inappropriate didn’t mean he would condone or react to her goading. Besides, she wasn’t really his type.

He almost jolted in his seat then. He knew he had someone in his life. He had someone, a partner… He had someone he felt for… Blonde hair?

His breath caught in his chest as his body shivered at the half-memory. Strong, delicate hands with a dexterous grip at his hips; the clash of teeth in an over-eager kiss.

“Where is my partner?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed as her body tensed. “Excuse me?” She asked.

“My… “

This wouldn't go well, he thought. He rubbed his temple, closed his eyes. He tried to remember more. He sighed, feeling defeated. “Nothing, never mind.”

The woman sniffed, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “Don’t push yourself.” She sat forward, uncrossed her legs and braced her hands on her knees. She smiled again, her teeth shone brilliantly and her gloss purely weaponized her smile. He realized her clothes, her body, and her make-up were tools. Her femininity was dangerous; this woman was wearing beauty to ensnare and destroy. Something about that… felt strange. Familiar, maybe. He didn’t mind it so much, but he knew he couldn’t trust this woman at all. She wasn’t even a doctor. Who would send someone like this to take of him during this clearly vulnerable state?

“Relax, sweetie.” She placed a hand on his and he fought the urge to flinch. “Just relax. Your health is more important right now.”

He nodded brusquely, not deigning to verbally reply. She gave him a coy little closed mouth smile and stood up.

“So, you want some shoes, some shampoo, conditioner, some sunblock might come in handy. Anything you want stocked for the kitchen? Any little particular thing, like some cologne, big guy?”

He shook his head. Work out equipment would be nice, but was clearly out of the question. She tsked. “I’m going to look around the place and see if anything else should be brought in.” He nodded apathetically. This situation was _weird_. Impossibly weird. He knew that, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

The woman’s heels clacked mercilessly upon the tile as she made her way through the establishment. Even up the stairs, he could hear the minute little tapping as she walked around overhead.

He closed his eyes; the air was pleasantly warm without feeling stale, and sunbeams were shooting through the ample windows. A soft buzzing gently took over his head as he laid his head against his arms, propped up on the armrest of the chair.

He wasn’t sure how long he was out for. He woke up to the woman talking to him, she must have been there a while. “What?” He sleepily asked.

She gave a satisfied little _hmph_ and stepped away. “I was worried that little touch I gave you was too much. Thought maybe I killed you after all.” She laughed, covering her mouth as she did so. She turned around, clearly ready to leave.

“I’ll be back again tomorrow, with some of your requested things.” He mumbled something inaudible. “What?” She cocked her head towards him, her hair traveled along her shoulder and framed her face.

“What do I call you?” He asked.

She smiled, her eyes shone brightly. “You can call me Jess,” she replied. She exited the building then, without looking back. He didn’t even watch her leave.

He simply laid his head back down and went back to sleep in the chair.

 


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He starts remembering his life a little, and also starts discovering new things about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, ahaha. Summer was wild guys, sorry to have ghosted. I had a birthday and my dog was put down and I went to larp a few times. I'm definitely ready for the steady cool air of winter, less havoc, and hope all of you are doing well. Critique if you'd like, leave a comment or scolding if it pleases you. I'll try to be better.

Chapter Two

 

He woke up hours later, his back stiff and his head buzzing slightly. The air was cool again, but he didn’t mind too much because he still had his sweater. It was getting dim outside. He smiled; there was something here he could enjoy.

He left his slippers at the doorway and walked down the little sidewalk, followed it past the vacant parking lot, and towards the beach. The walk to the beach line wasn’t too far; he got close to the water just in time to watch the heavy coastal sunset. He watched the myriad of color, his toes buried in the near-white sand of the beach. There were birds here, muddy colored gulls, ridiculously large white-grey gulls with black-tipped wings, and some funny little brownish birds that literally went _peep_ , and others that seemed to bark at each other. The bird cries and the crashing of the waves soothed him better than Jess’ company did. He scoffed. Something about her was too abrasive.

As the last tendril of vibrancy in the sky was absorbed by the murky purple of night, he turned back and made the fifteen minute walk to his temporary residence. Entering, he slid his now cold feet into the slippers, and wondered if he had ingredients to make a hot pot of chili. Now that he knew he would be staying for a while, he could make enough food to last a few meals.

He found cans of black beans, tomato paste, and corn. He had enough spices, and there was some garlic. In the refrigerator he found some onion and some ground meat. Chicken? He wasn’t sure and it didn’t bother him. It was better than living off of rations.

He stopped dicing his onion. Rations.

Was he military? That would explain some of the scarring, or all of it really. Active duty could be tough, but clearly so was he.

He finished preparing his meal and soon the smell of the cooking pot was wafting through the entire first floor. He was _famished_ , and if Jess was supposed to be looking after him why wasn’t she making sure he was eating? He laughed aloud at her poor nursing skills.

The hot meal was exactly what he needed. After slurping two full bowls and cleaning up his mess he decided on a quick bath. He was just opening the door to his room when he realized he wasn’t at all tired.

That’s what he gets for sleeping all day.

Now he felt stupid. He should have asked Jess for paper, notebooks, newspapers to read, some novels or crossword puzzles or _something_ with which to preoccupy his time. He sighed in defeat; he’d just have to ask when she came back. For now though, he’d have to make his own entertainment.

Instead of a utility closet, the second floor kept a linens closet, complete with a washer and dryer. He grabbed some extra bedding and stole a mattress from the top floor and made his way to the roof. He hadn’t been stargazing for… Well he wouldn’t rightly know how long it’s been, but he couldn’t remember it. He set himself up a few paces from the door and looked up, head resting on his hands.

He honestly didn’t know much about astronomy either, but it was something, looking at stars. He could find Orion, and the Big Dipper, and after that he could find the little one. He knew that the larger orange-ish dot was Mars, and that Venus was somewhere, but that was it.

After a few minutes he saw a shooting star. He closed his eyes. _I wish Claire is safe, and that I can see her again soon_. He thought, hoped really, that that was a simple enough wish.

After less than an hour, he ended up falling asleep on the roof.

  
  
  
He soon realised he had no way of actually telling the time when he started anticipating Jess’s arrival. After waking, he had taken another walk to the shoreline, this time getting his feet wet. After looking at little scuttling crabs and gulls shrieking at each other, he had decided to wait for her at the lot.

He was getting restless already. He wanted to move, to do something. He hoped he’d get his memory back quickly. It was a great relief to see the same vehicle pull up and park.

Jess stuck her head out of the open window, blew a bubble with her gum and promptly popped it. “Miss me?”

He didn't say anything, didn't even roll his eyes. She smiled, popped open the car door without further conversation. She had a large paper bag with her, fuller than he would have expected.

She deposited the bag on the counter inside, immediately pulling out its contents. From the bottom she pulled out a shoebox, “You’re lucky someone paid attention to your file,” she said. “I didn't actually know your size."

He opened the box, revealing some rather high end looking canvas… Loafers? Lounge shoes? Slip-ons? Whatever, they looked comfortable and like they’d fit. Inside were also some jelly insoles. He held them up, scrutinizing them.

“Doc himself recommended them.” Jess said, and patted his shoulder. Laid out in front of her was some decidedly salon-quality shampoo and conditioner, as well as a daily moisturizer, exfoliant, facial cleanser, sunblock, floss, mouthwash, chapstick, cotton swabs, men's deodorant, pomade, hair brush, hair spray, shaving cream, an electric razor, aftershave, bath salts, tweezers, and nail clippers and file. He must have made a face, because Jess laughed. “I picked these out,” she confessed.  

That made sense. She seemed like the type to have a rigorous daily beauty regimen. She really must have held herself back, honestly.

He reached into the bag and found a simple, sleek alarm clock, a plain notebook and a box of pencils, and two books.

The smaller novel was a paperback copy of _The Great Gatsby._ The larger was a collected treasury of Sherlock Holmes. Both were timeless classics, he supposed. Safe for him to read.

“Thank you,” he said. She cocked her head in response, and gathered all the beauty products. “I’ll just put these away for you.” Her heels clicked as she sashayed away. He went to sit at what he was starting to think of as _his_ chair, with his notebook in tow.

He really was grateful to have something to organise his thoughts and compose himself with. Instantly he was writing in it: his memories of Claire, what she looked like; the foods he knew how to cook; how he knew his parents were gone because he knew he took care of his sister.

He had filled the first two pages before Jess returned from her task upstairs.

“Writing a novel, big guy?”

“I wouldn’t know what to write about,” he said, not without mirth.

Jess threw herself against the chair in front of him, lounging across it and crossing her feet over the armrest. “I’m sure you could think of something. This place is so boring, I bet you’re daydreaming all the time.”

“I saw some birds fight over some clams this morning,” he offered. She huffed. 

“Like I said. _Boring_.” 

She pulled out her phone, sliding those well-manicured fingers across the broad screen. She must have seen something she disliked because she wrinkled her nose disdainfully and gave a little sniff. 

“Ugly brunch pic from your friends?” He asked, looking back down at his notebook. 

“I wish,” Jess spat. “Unfortunately it’s work. Extra work. Technically, I have you to thank for it.” 

His eyes shot towards her. Were they co-workers? That would… make sense, in a way. She had expected him to recognise her, and she was _very_ familiar with him. But he thought he might be military. Was she too? He closed his eyes, trying to remember. He was grasping at something, something he couldn’t quite reach.

Salty air. A cold, cold wind on his face. 

_Not this place_ was what he was remembering. But he couldn’t actually place it. He knew it though, he knew he had been _there_ and Jess had been there with him. 

She seemed to notice that she said too much; he was frozen in place. “Do you remember anything?” Her words were quiet, the syllables uttered low in her throat. 

“Not… No, not really.” He answered. “Maybe… Snow…” 

He opened his eyes to her mysterious, blank stare. It seemed as if Jess would say something, but something in the air broke, and she turned to her phone. She quickly tapped away at it and put it back in her pocket. 

“I hate snow,” she murmured. “I like the beach so much more. If it warms up nicely, maybe I’ll spend a day here, bring my swimsuit.” 

“Bring me one too,” he said, almost laughing. She turned her head back to him languidly, eyeballing him up and down. 

“I will,” she told him. “Is there anything else that you think you need?” 

He thought about it. “Extra clothes? Not just a swimsuit. This is all I have here right now.” 

“Of course.” The words rolled lazily through her mouth. 

He paused, thinking about whether or not it was worth asking her. But he decided it would be best to have it out in the open. 

“Jess, do you find me attractive?” 

“Of course,” she said again, just as easily. She held up her left hand, looking at her nails. _She wasn’t even looking at him_. “You’re fucking hot.” 

“Oh.” That was all he could think to say. The situation was awkward, he was out of his depth. He wasn’t blushing, he didn’t feel flattered. Maybe if it was someone he cared for, or saw more often, like Leon or… 

_Leon_. 

_Leon Kennedy, the brazen federal agent._  

Memories came rushing back, too many, and still not enough. He remembered Leon, and so much about him, remembered fighting with him, fighting _with_ him, and Leon’s drinking habit. He remembered long days at the range, competing in target practice. He remembered Leon on a motorcycle, speeding through the bustling city - _New York?_ He remembered Leon telling him his story, how he was late to his first day on the job as a _cop_. He remembered… the woman… The one in red… Not Claire… 

“Leon,” he gasped. He opened his watering eyes; he was on the floor, laying on his back. Jess had his head pulled up on her lap, talking too quickly into her phone, her eyes wide. She fell quiet at his words. “I remember Leon.” 

“You hear that?” The words were meant for the other party. She laid a cool hand on his head, he closed his eyes again. He felt sick, his head was fucking _killing him_. But he remembered someone, he remembered Leon. 

And he must have been a cop, or worked with the force. Remembering the range, the smell of oil, the simple, methodical cleaning of each weapon, and all those firearms he knew like the back of his own hand…

He felt like he was going to be sick all over Jess’ stupidly designer clothes. He was breathing too quickly, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop. His mind was racing too quickly for him to process any of what it found - he was getting dizzy, he felt like he was going to break. 

He woke up feeling sore, threadbare. He was on the ground in the lobby still, but Jess must have propped him up with ample pillows and dragged some of the starchy blankets down to cover him from the chill. Tilting his head, he saw her shoes. He realised he found them not just impractical, but kind of ugly, too clunky and sharp at the same time. 

“Careful,” she warned him. “Don’t move too quickly.” 

He grunted in affirmation and slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. It was dark out; Jess was nursing a mug of coffee in one hand and had her phone in the other. In her left ear was an earbud. He couldn’t hear what she was listening to, but it made him ache for something to play. 

“Do you think…” His voice was gritty, like an open dusty road. “Can I get some music to play while I’m here?” 

“What do you like?” She asked. Her tone was calm, close to bored. 

“I… think I like more classic rock,” he lamely replied. She huffed a little laugh. 

“Yeah,” she grinned. “That seems like you, big guy. I’ll see what I can do.” 

He nodded, and tried to stand up. His head began swimming, and a droning sound seemed to fill his skull. He eased himself back down, nestled in his pillows against his chair. 

“There’s chili in the fridge, if you’re hungry.” He offered. 

“I’m good, but thank you. She took a sip of her coffee. The smell of it was bold and invigorating. 

It was kind of nice, he admitted to himself. Like having a sleepover as a kid. Though he did feel a little guilty for taking up so much of Jess’ time. He’s sure she would have left long ago if he hadn’t had his episode. 

But he was glad to have had it. _Leon_. He was starting to piece himself together, and it was a relief to remember a true friend in his life. It alleviated the burden of loneliness he hadn’t been able to dispel. It felt good to know that there was someone specific that would be glad to see him when he fully recovered. 

He did feel a little guilty, for not remembering Claire as vividly. Maybe she was too close for him to remember yet.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lazy days, lonely days, head in a daze.

Chapter Three

  
 

Jess didn't stay the night. 

She left soon after he woke up, and he ate a bowl of leftovers before going up to his room and trying to piece together his shattered memories. 

It was later the following day, on the beach, that it occurred to him that his doctor, whoever was on the phone with Jess, knew the significance of him remembering his friend. Perhaps he could convince them that he and Leon should be permitted to meet. He was lonely. 

He frowned. The person on the phone likely knew exactly who Leon was, since it was worth Jess confirming it to them. Something about that… It felt off. 

He tossed a piece of macaroni at a skeptical gull, which gobbled the scrap shamelessly and waited for more. He made macaroni salad and boiled a pot of eggs that morning. He had deviled eggs, salad, and an apple for his beachside picnic. 

He was sporting a healthy tan, Jess’ sunblock really was coming in useful. His head didn’t hurt as much; he only had one dizzy spell thus far, and suffered a little vertigo. He avoided touching the bruise on his head though.  He never wanted to experience what Jess had put him through again. 

He idly wondered when she’d be in today, and if she’d bring any music for him. He wondered if he would like the same music he did before. He thinks he's heard of changes in personal preferences happening after a head injury. Maybe now all he’d like was something terrible, like GG Allin. He laughed, and tossed a piece of egg at the gull. 

He wasn't out that long; maybe two hours. Within that time though, Jess had come and gone. Near the door was a small hamper of new clean laundry, which was a relief. He didn't want to lounge nude while waiting for his single outfit to wash and dry. 

Even though he couldn't work out, he decided to stay limber. That morning he adopted a healthy, lengthy stretch routine, incorporating a few beginner's yoga poses. He then took a long, hot bath, luxuriated in his new _sulfate-free_ shampoo and used his _lavender and rosemary_ bath salts. He actually really enjoyed it, as well as the clean white shirt and sweats he put on. 

Dinner was an uneventful affair. He made a vegetable soup, with black beans, lentils, and curly pasta. On the side he had lemon pepper chicken and carrots julienne - that was how Claire liked them cut when she was a kid. He couldn't wait to cook for her again. 

She was something he thought of purposefully throughout his day. The memory of her was tinged with a sadness he couldn't place. At first he attributed it to the death of their parents, but when he tried to think of them the feeling was absent. He hoped she was alright. 

He fell into a routine. He woke early, brushed his teeth and had breakfast. He did his stretches in the sunlit patio, read his books, and packed a lunch; he always picnicked on the beach. The gulls were getting greedy, and he often found them following him, knowing that when he settled they’d get some scraps. 

He stayed out on the shore for hours. He packed his notebook in the giant bag Jess had left, with his midday meal, jotting notes and feelings and thoughts down whenever he was struck by them. It was being filled quite quickly. 

Every afternoon he stretched again and started cooking dinner. His dinners were getting more elaborate and he found himself enjoying experimenting in the kitchen. He made each one fresh; leftovers were saved for lunch or maybe even breakfast. 

He remembered his kitchen, at least, he’s pretty sure it's his kitchen. It was small, with a full refrigerator and an electric stovetop. A microwave and a coffee pot adorned the green tile counter. Coffee stains decorated the grout generously, and a window sat over the sink, overlooking the bricks of  the neighboring apartment building. He was really looking forward to getting home and remodeling it. 

After dinner he usually watched the sunset. Sometimes he went back to the shoreline, appreciating the mild sounds of birds and waves, and the salt laden air licking his skin while the sun sank heavily into the horizon and the sky swallowed up the last of the light. After the display he took a bath, and then either read his books or pored over his own journal. 

Five days passed in this manner. It was calm, and quiet. It was restful, and he was worried. 

Jess hadn't shown up once. 

At first he thought he was simply missing her on his walks to the ocean, but there was no sign of her presence anywhere. It was worrisome. What if no one else knew where he was? How close was the nearest town? What if he tripped and fell on his face and became a freaking vegetable? How long would it take before he was discovered? 

He was running low on eggs, and completely out of milk. He was more restless than ever, his dizzy spells becoming few and far between. He had dreams which he was sure were memories, sitting at a clunky computer filing reports, competitions at the range where he was trying to best _Forest_ , and a horrific, sickly flower haunted him. He had so many questions, had so many thoughts, and he was _out here, abandoned, lost, forgotten…_  

He was laying in the sunlight in his chair, notebook open in his lap. An herbal tea, he thinks it’s herbal, somehow spicy and tart at the same time, sits on the low table. There was no coffee stocked in the pantry. He missed the smell of it, knew he would go back to drinking it every day, but all he had were several varieties of non-caffeinated tea. This one he had to take without milk, but added a little honey to taste. 

Last night he had found a large bar of solid semi-sweet chocolate; he was itching for something to make out of it, but he didn’t know much about baking. He had shaven some of the chocolate off and was eating it like a candy bar to satiate his craving. It was plain, but good. 

A gull, one of the dove-colored large ones, was staring at him through the window in front of him. They did that now; he’d spoiled them utterly rotten. He chuckled. There hadn’t been any signage warning to not feed the wildlife. 

He felt lazy, and bored, and so god-damn _alone_. His last dizzy spell had been two days ago, and he thinks his doctor should know that. 

He looked down at his latest notes. For some reason, a young man with red hair was someone he remembered. There were mixed, conflicting feelings there. He knew the guy was an asshole, but… a decent enough asshole? Thinking of the redhead sent a feeling of such severe _loss_ through him that he hated dwelling on him. But something about his face was captivating, there was something deeper there, captured in horrifically piercing eyes. He couldn’t remember the man’s name though. Maybe he just wasn’t ready to confront that yet. 

And he remembered something else when he had remembered that young man. A small country, a bar, a cold winter, stiff drinks too cheap to complain about. He could taste the vile spirits even now: stale, sour, and so, so strong. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He hated thinking of that, and yet he was morbidly curious about what had put him there in that god-forsaken place. 

He remembered one other person, and actually very clearly. _Rebecca_. He adored her, felt so much gratitude and pride when he thought of her. He wondered how she was, if she was still working long hours in labs, drinking her cocoa-whipped cream-sprinkles abominations. He missed her too. The first thing he wanted to do when he returned to the real world was take her, Claire, and Leon all out for a big dinner together, so he could hug them and cry and talk and let them all know how much he appreciated them all. 

He grunted, and kicked his bare feet up on the table. 

He wanted pizza. 

Two hours later he found himself sipping a glass of rosemary and lavender infused lemonade. He found the drink good, and it would probably be especially refreshing after a day on the shore. The sun had peaked, but the day wasn’t yet ending. As he shut the refrigerator, the front door slammed open. 

He was wielding a butcher knife and in front of the counter before he realized what he was doing. Jess warily stared at him, two heavily packed bags occupying her arms. 

“That’s one way to impress a girl,” she said. 

He put the knife down, wondering what was _wrong_ with him. 

“Do you like lemonade?” He lamely offered. Jess laughed. He walked to her, his bare feet making no noise against the tile, and took the bags from her. Once placed on the table, he looked inside. Groceries. Awesome. 

He busied himself with putting the perishables away, already thinking about what he wanted for dinner. 

“I’ll be right back, there’s one more thing in the car.” Jess’s heels clacked loudly behind him. “Try not to stab me when I come back.” He grimaced. 

Seriously, what was fucking wrong with him? 

He sat at his chair, sipping his lemonade. He had put a glass on the table for Jess; it was the least he could do for nearly _murdering her_. 

Though… She had seemed very calm… 

He pushed the scene from his mind; he had no real way of judging himself or his actions right now, so he’d be better off not forcing himself to dwell on it. 

He should have offered to help Jess bring in whatever was in the car. 

She returned with her arms full, again. She was carrying a rather large cardboard box, and a wide plastic bag was looped around her right elbow. “Here you go,” she chirped, delighted by her new gift she set down in front of him, careful not to tip over the glass. “Just as you asked, big guy.” 

He leaned forward, inspecting the closed box. “What is it?” 

Jess huffed, plopped down in a seat and swung one leg over the other’s knee. She was wearing different shoes today, he noted. A not quite beige number, still high-heeled, and adorned with gold studs. It went with her rose gold, form-fitting cropped jacket and gold rubber band. Squinting, he realised she had gold shimmer over her eyes and cheekbones. He was willing to bet that her nails were painted to match. He couldn’t help but smile at her efforts to impress literally no one. 

“Just open it. It’s less fun if I tell you.” She blinked after rolling her eyes. 

With a little hum of assent, he pulled the box closer. It was a little heavier than he expected, and now he really did regret not offering to carry the package for her. He opened the top to discover a rather lovely looking record player, either brand new or very well cared for. 

“Oh,” he said. 

“You ingrate.” Jess placed the bag she had on the table, sliding it over. The contents peaked out the top. Records. 

He smiled warmly, pulling each sleeve out. He knew these albums, he could feel the golden stirrings of nostalgia in his chest as he looked at them. 

Oil & Gold was on top. Painkiller lay right beneath it. The Stone Roses; the first track was one of his favourites, he knew that. He closed his eyes and remembered long nights outside after work, getting his nicotine fix while the boombox played this very album. He looked at the last vinyl; Standing in the Dark, a total classic. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. He was honestly at a loss for the gifts. Most days the silence really did get to him. 

“Don’t worry about it, big guy.” She waved his gratitude off so easily. “I just brought them.” 

His blood ran cold. Something was very wrong here. “Did Claire tell you what I liked?” He asked, voice steady. 

Jess shrugged, cool as a cucumber. “I don’t know,” she answered. “She might have. Like I said, I just brought them. Doc thought your request was valid.” 

He relaxed, marginally. He was grateful for the vinyls, and these really were some of his favourite albums, he knew most of the lyrics to all these songs. He set the stack down on the table. “Will I ever see my doctor?” 

Jess’s laugh was sudden, a genuine outburst. “Oh, I’m sure you will. You’re all he talks about, you know. He’s very busy with you.” 

“Oh,” again, was his simple reply. He wondered what his doctor was like; it clearly wasn’t Rebecca, though he wished it was. Rebecca was probably too busy with work to even be wondering where he was. He snorted. Yes, she was probably letting her coffee go cold while she studied the specimen under her microscope. 

He froze. 

A specimen. A sample. 

_Rebecca was studying the viruses_. 

He flared his nostrils, trying hard to keep his breathing under control. He covered his face with a hand and angled his head away from Jess. 

_Fuck. Fuck!_  

He tried to calm himself as he remembered headlines for The Raccoon Press, autopsy reports from victims in the woods, too-strong coffee stale in his mouth as he studied the attack patterns under the fluorescent lights in the office. Rebecca, _so young, so small_ , passing him in the hallways smiling. The captain’s office, with the shades down and piles of paperwork outside the door. 

He was brought back to reality by Jess’s happy squeal across the table. He opened his eyes that he hadn’t realised he had squeezed shut. 

“This is good!” 

He looked up to see her sipping at her lemonade. She downed half the glass in one go. “I can’t believe you made this,” she said. 

_I can’t believe you didn’t notice me freaking the fuck out_ , he thought. He forced a little smile for her. “I’m glad you like it. It was actually quite easy to make.” 

“We should have a little picnic sometime. Beautiful beach, beautiful food, beautiful people.” She winked boldly at him. “What do you say, big guy? Bring a bunch of this stuff.” The rest of her drink was gone in a flash. 

He took her glass and walked back to the sink. “Sure,” he replied while rinsing it. His hands were steady, not a tremble shook his thick fingers. “Sounds fun.” He didn’t tell her he spent about every lunch picnicking at the shoreline, and he wouldn’t. He wanted to see the gulls descend upon her and her meal. He couldn’t help but let a laugh escape his lips at the thought. 

Jess did her usual thing, checked his room, the bathroom, made sure he was still stocked up on all the necessities. She had another glass of the infused lemonade before she mentioned that she was leaving. 

“How long until you’ll be back?” He asked her. She shrugged. 

“Not long. A day or two. It’s been busy, you know, but your health is important and I’m not supposed to leave you by yourself for too long.” 

“Do you… want to know how I’ve been?” He asked her. “How many dizzy spells I’ve had, if I’ve remembered anything?” 

“Oh, that’d be good, wouldn’t it?” Jess smiled, teeth gleaming like bullets. She whipped out her phone and set it to record. “Tell me how you feel.” 

He glanced at her phone, eyes quickly darting away to meet hers. He smiled. “I feel great.”


End file.
